


Anaerobic Respiration

by crownofthornsandroses



Category: Flowers in the Attic - V. C. Andrews, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownofthornsandroses/pseuds/crownofthornsandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean in the attic, essentially.  THIS IS NOT FINISHED I WILL RETURN TO EDIT IT PROPERLY, perhaps drastically. GENUINELY, DO Not BOTHER WITH THIS UNTIL I SORT IT OUT, ITS ONLY HERE BECAUSE I HAD NOWHERE ELSE TO TYPE IT UP ON MY PHONE</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anaerobic Respiration

**Author's Note:**

> I will not attempt to copy the... Inimitable, if sometimes flawed, style of V.C. Andrews. This will be more inspired by FITA than a direct retelling, but there are some classic moments I may just have to include from the book...

May 2cnd, 1989.

"Would you just cut it out, Sam?" 

Instantly, the 7 year old's face fell. He sat back on his haunches, waiting. 

"Deaaan"

Making a show of slowness, the older boy turned his head. He exhaled, pointedly. 

They were in Dean's room. The clock glowed out 06:45. Dean lay in bed with all the aggression he could muster, rigid and unresponsive. Sam was on the floor, entangled in the duvet that he had just (with a lot of enthusiasm - and perhaps a little rudeness) yanked off.  
His rounded limbs were stark against the melting purples and blues of the galaxy; his hair a mop, pointing every which way as if charged on the irresistable spark of his excitement. His eyes betrayed that he was more perplexed than genuinely hurt. But when he repeated his plea, chin quavering...? Dean caved. He relaxed into the bed.

"I didn't mean it, Sammy". A long moment passed, then he smiled with easy warmth through the dimness of the room. "Happy birthday." And Sam grinned back, electric. 

"Will you gimme my present?" He asked breathlessly, "and I'll give you yours!" An old practice, intended to curb fraternal jealousy - every year on Dean's birthday, Sam too would receive a gift (just the one) and vice-versa. Dean then noticed the two gaudily wrapped and somewhat misshapen parcels resting nearby. It hadn't occured to Sam that he might be refused. It hardly occurred to Dean. Nor was he surprised that Sam had weaselled out their parent's hiding places. That was just like Sam.

"Sure!" He sprung out of bed, thinking nothing, at 11 years old, of the ability to be alert within seconds of being awake. Both these boys were accustomed to feeling fresh in the mornings, as any young and well cared for children are. Settling side by side, they tore impatiently into their presents. 

Painstakingly, and with only a very little advice from Mom, Dean had picked out some new books for Sam. Advanced books, and several of them for his brother who devoured them so quick. If Sam's gasp was anything to go by, Dean had picked well. Something like satisfaction bloomed between his ribs. 

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" 

"Hey, no problem." Dean muttered. "Don't get too excited, or you'll puke." He fiddled with the popper of the small pouch he had unwrapped.

"Open it!" Sam turned his eyes on his brother, excitement in no way dampened.

Dean obeyed. He drew out a necklace - a weighty bronze charm on a sturdy cord. 

"Its an amulet!" Sam explained "Momma helped me pick it." At this, Dean smirked a little. But he thanked his brother, and he meant it too. 

"Boys, it's breakfast time!" Their mother's voice wafted up the stairs, with the smell of fresh pancakes. Mrs. Mary Winchester, a happy, happy housewife with no husband in the house. 

They scrambled up, mouthes watering, but Dean didn't forget to slip the amulet around his neck before they raced off downstairs. Graciously, he even let Sam beat him there. 

 

**************

 

It was with pride that Sam noted that his brother had worn the amulet all day. If Dean thought something was cool, them it was, no question about it. Dean was wild, and Dean was mean, and Sam knew Dean loved him like he knew which way was up. Even when Dean was mean to him. Especially when Dean was mean to him. 

"He'll be here soon." Dean nodded as he said it. Twenty minutes ago they had crossed the school carpark, holding hands as instructed, to go sit on their usual bench. Sam didn't reply, just fidgeted with his rucksack. It was Friday, and that meant Dad was coming home. He said he would have come anyway, 'course he would, for Sam's birthday. But neither of the boys were quite sure, for all that they strained themselves to be. Of course, it was beyond John Winchester's control when he was granted time-off. They knew that. If it was up to him, he'd make it back every time! Somehow that knowledge did nothing to stifle the disappointment when he didn't make it.

When Dad came home, Mom was different. She didn't need Dean to help her out so much - with the house, with Sam - but there were times it seemed like she wanted his help even more than usual. Her arms were soft and open for John every time, even the times that her eyes were not. Dean had noticed. Sometimes, as he stacked away playes and glasses, he'd count them. Sometimes, there would be less than before, and then he'd pry uneasily in the bins for shattered porcelain. He wasnt sure what this activity achieved. All the boys ever witnessed of their parent's fights were these snatches of debris, afterwards. Sam, so sharp, had looked at Mary and John with an air of wary curiosity perhaps even before Dean had seen it. No, honestly Dean had seen the fracture for the first time reflected in his brother's catlike eyes. But Dean had seen other things between his parents too, things that made him uneasy in a different way altogether. Nothing really, just... Sometimes he'd be in a room, and they'd be kissing and touching, and it would dawn on him that they'd not realised he could see! Or they'd forgotten him altogether. Amd he'd steal out, ashamed and a little resentful, of what? That he saw them? That they didnt see him? 

Sat on the car park bench, Sam was engrossed in his new book, utterly immune to small distractions. For the last hour, this same fly had been drifting lazily around, he'd been swatting it lazily away - it had become a routine. Dean had wandered off - not far, but far enough for Sam to tune out his brother's boredom. A chill was serring in - but Mom had dressed him in his winter coat this morning. 

So he was disorientated when the rumble of a car's engine broke his focus. Took him a second to spot the car. It wasn't Dad's. It was a Police car. But, even then, the sight of Dad in the passenger seat let him cling on to the ignorance that anything had happened. Anything bad. He elbowed Dean weakly. Then the officer got out the car.

"I've got some difficult news for you..." 

Mom. Dead. 

Sam bent over, and quitely vomited onto the tarmac.

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this will look like since i just typed it on my phone. Apologies if it's strangely formatted.


End file.
